


Tell Me No Truths

by grumpy_dragon



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst, Body Horror, Conspiracy, Dark Comedy, Family Drama, Gen, Horror, Human Sacrifice, Mental Health Issues, Mystery, Odin (Marvel)'s A+ Parenting, Psychological Horror, Secrets, Supernatural Elements, Surrealism, Thor (Marvel) is a Good Bro, Thriller, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-08-18 22:16:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20199052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grumpy_dragon/pseuds/grumpy_dragon
Summary: Lies and secrets tore their family apart, and the Odinson brothers are still trying to pick up the pieces. Loki is fresh out of jail, doing his best to hold his life together while fighting a losing battle against his own mind. Thor is fresh out of university, determined to forge his own path in the face of family expectations. A gruesome discovery soon leads Thor to a chance encounter with Val, a jaded ex-detective investigating a series of mysterious deaths, and he and Loki find themselves drawn into a world of deceit and intrigue as they join her quest for the truth. But there is no room for coincidence here, and when Loki unearths a grisly secret about his own past the brothers and their allies find that the answers they seek may lie closer to home than they bargained for. What was Laufey trying to do? What does Odin know? And is it possible to avoid a fate that was set in motion by forces far beyond human reckoning?Remember, dear reader: everyone has secrets, nothing is as it seems, and the lines around our reality aren't exactly drawn with permanent ink.





	1. Never Better, Never Worse

**Author's Note:**

> AUs like this aren't usually my thing, but this story popped into my head a couple months ago almost fully formed and I couldn't shake it, so here we are. I have several buffer chapters written and I know where this is going, so you can expect updates roughly every couple weeks.
> 
> A few warnings: Note the tags. This fic will be graphic at times, though not gratuitously. Additional warnings for mental health issues, discussions of suicide, self-destructive behavior, mentions of alcohol and drug use, etc. Also note the unreliable narrator and surrealism tags: there will be portions of this fic where it's unclear what is and isn't real. So proceed with caution if any of that is an issue.
> 
> All respective rights belong to Marvel.

Great. This is just freaking great. Loki slams his hand ineffectually against the drainpipe, as if that will actually unclog the stupid thing. He’s been trying to remove the u-bend for the past ten minutes, but so far his efforts have just left him soaked in dishwater and no closer to fixing his stupid sink. So now he’s lying on his back, halfway inside the cabinet under the sink and surrounded by every towel he owns, cursing his stupid landlord for not answering his texts and himself for not owning a good set of pliers. Or one of those… whatever those things are called that you stick down pipes to clean them out. He doesn’t know, he’s not a freaking plumber. But really, he shouldn’t need one anyway, since it’s not like he washes coffee grounds down the drain or anything. There’s no reason it should be clogged. And yet here he is, because the universe has a personal grudge against Loki Odinson and everything in the world is conspiring to make his life miserable.

His phone chimes and he groans theatrically before extricating himself from his position under the sink. It better be the landlord saying he’s on his way to fix this, or else Loki’s going to have to find a hardware store and figure out what tool he needs to buy to do it himself.

It’s not his landlord. Of course not.

_Are you home? I had to cancel a meeting and I’m in the area, so I can stop by now instead of at 3 if you’re available. -Coulson_

Loki’s available, even if he doesn’t exactly want his parole officer coming by for a home inspection when he’s in the middle of trying (and failing) to fix an overflowing sink. But this day already sucks, so he texts back and tells Coulson that it’s fine.

He spends the next five minutes trying to clean up as much of his flooded kitchen as he can, and has just pulled on a dry shirt when Coulson’s sharp knock sounds at his apartment door. Loki smooths his hair back and answers with a polite smile. “Hello, sir.”

Coulson returns the smile, mild as milk. “Good afternoon, Mr. Odinson. I apologize for the short notice. May I come in?”

“Of course.” Loki steps aside and gestures for him to enter. “Please forgive the state of the kitchen. The sink’s been acting up but my landlord hasn’t been able to come by to fix it yet.”

Coulson merely nods and glances around, betraying no expression as his eyes sweep Loki’s studio. There’s not much to see – a bed in the corner, neatly made, Loki’s desk (decidedly less neat), the ragged sofa, and the coffee table he’d picked up a few months ago from a street corner where someone had left it with a sign that read “free/gratis”. His coffee mug from this morning is still sitting on the edge of the table, a pale ring forming on the stack of papers beneath it. Aside from the flooded sink, nothing is particularly out of place. There’s no reason for Coulson to be suspicious, and there’s no contraband for him to find anyway, but that never stops Loki’s heart rate from picking up during these visits. He wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans and leans against the wall with as much nonchalance as he can manage.

“How have you been doing?” Coulson asks, apparently satisfied with the general state of the apartment.

“I’ve been fine,” Loki says. Aside from his sink exploding. And Thor’s incessant texts and voicemails asking Loki to please call him back, he’s worried. And the fact that he’s gotten about twelve hours of sleep this whole week. So, fine, he’s not great, but if Coulson can tell he doesn’t say anything.

Coulson hums. “I’m glad to hear it. How’s work?”

“Work is good.” That’s a bit of an overstatement – yesterday he had seriously contemplated stabbing his eye out with a pencil after he spent ten minutes trying to convince the elderly customer on the other end of the line that _no, your computer is not haunted, that’s called a screensaver and it will go away if you move the mouse, really, I promise. _But he’s been on time, his supervisor hasn’t complained, and it beats cleaning toilets or stocking shelves. “I asked for more hours and my boss said she’d try to find some extra shifts for me,” he says. The initiative should get him a couple points with Coulson, at least.

Coulson notes that on his clipboard, apparently pleased. Not that his pleased face looks much different from his normal face. Loki is reasonably certain the man lost the ability to emote in whatever tragic accident also took the front half of his hair.

“You had an appointment with Dr. Xavier this morning, correct?” Coulson asks. Loki stiffens slightly.

“Yes,” he replies. “What about it?”

“Just confirming.” Coulson taps his pen on the side of his clipboard, a gesture Loki assumes was programmed into him as part of his human disguise. It’s far too precise to be a genuine tic. “Did that go well?”

“It went fine.”

“And you’ve been taking your medication as prescribed?”

“Yes,” Loki says. Mostly. When he remembers. Coulson doesn’t need to know about the blackouts. (Technically, Coulson probably _should_ know, but Dr. Xavier didn’t seem to think they were a reason to panic. He just said to keep an eye on them and that they might try adjusting his medication if it gets worse. So there’s no reason to tell Coulson and have his parole officer think he’s even more batshit than he probably already does.)

“So you would say your mental health is well-managed?” Coulson asks.

“I’m not going to start doing cocaine or stabbing people for no reason, if that’s what you mean,” Loki says. Coulson’s gaze is level.

“If that’s what I meant, that’s what I would have asked,” he says.

Loki sighs. “I’m doing everything I’m supposed to, and Dr. Xavier would tell you if he had reason to believe I was a danger to myself or anyone else. Is that satisfactory?”

“I suppose that’s all I can reasonably ask,” Coulson says, as if that’s an answer. Not that Loki can really talk. Coulson moves into the kitchen area and folds his clipboard under one arm. “Do you mind if I take a look in your cabinets?”

Loki’s never sure why Coulson asks before searching, as if he could simply refuse when the terms of his release give his parole officer explicit permission to search the premises. He politely assents anyway and stands back while Coulson goes through the kitchen.

“Your brother called me the other day,” Coulson says suddenly, crouched down beside the soaked towels on the floor so he can inspect Loki’s pots and pans for hidden drugs and weapons. There aren’t any, because Loki’s not stupid, but it’s a formality.

Loki’s brow furrows. “Thor called you?”

“I think that is your brother’s name, yes,” Coulson says dryly. “He said you hadn’t responded to any of his recent attempts to contact you. Apparently he’s worried about you.”

Loki rolls his eyes and watches as Coulson moves to his silverware drawer. “I wasn’t aware keeping in touch with my family was a condition of my parole.”

“It’s not,” Coulson says. “I just thought you’d like to know.”

What Loki would _like _is for Thor to take a freaking hint, but apparently that’s too much to ask. “What did you tell him?” he asks Coulson.

“That I’m your parole officer, not your answering service.” Coulson, apparently finished with the kitchen, moves his search to the bathroom. Loki leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. He’s about to ask if Thor said anything aside from his typical worried big brother shtick when Coulson turns to face him, holding up a blue bottle in one hand.

Right. He forgot about that.

“NyQuil?” Coulson asks, eyebrow raised. He looks more bemused than anything.

Loki shrugs. “I had a cold last week. I didn’t think over the counter medication would be an issue, since I’m not on parole for a drug offense.” The last part is technically true. He has one on his record, but it’s a simple possession charge from three years ago and he only had to pay a fine. Coulson doesn’t look impressed.

“I know you’ve read your agreement, Mr. Odinson. I believe there’s a clause in there which states that, due to your personal history and medical situation, you are required to get medical approval before taking any new medications. Do you remember that clause?”

Loki says nothing. Of course he remembers, he has his entire parole agreement memorized. He meant to get rid of the NyQuil before Coulson came by, but he got sidetracked by the day’s plumbing disaster and then Coulson showed up two hours early. And now he’s put his freedom in jeopardy because last week he thought it would be a great idea to buy some cold medicine to help him sleep. _Nice going, Odinson._

Coulson regards him for a moment with that infuriatingly mild gaze, then asks, “Are you feeling better?”

Loki manages to hide his startled expression. “What?”

“Your cold.”

Right. The alleged reason for the NyQuil. “Oh,” he says. “Yes, I’m doing much better, thank you.”

Coulson nods and gestures to the bottle. “Then you don’t need this anymore?”

Loki shakes his head. “No, I’m quite done with it.”

“Good. Then I think it’s best if I remove it and recommend that you review the terms of your parole so you don’t inadvertently end up violating them. Is that amenable, Mr. Odinson?”

Loki swallows, doing his best to hide the cascade of relief rushing down his spine. “Yes. Good idea.”

Coulson tucks the bottle away with a bland smile and moves past Loki, back into the main room. It only takes him a few minutes to search the rest of the apartment, and he leaves after reminding Loki of their check-in next Tuesday. As soon as he’s gone, Loki collapses bonelessly on his sofa and checks his messages. Still nothing. Great. Hardware store it is then.

*

Thor is lounging on the couch, stuffing potato chips in his mouth and watching Korg and Sif engage in a heated debate about the new Star Trek series, when his phone buzzes. Probably Fandral texting to say he’s going to be late for movie night, he figures, because Fandral’s always late for movie night. He pulls the phone out to shoot back a text saying that it’s fine and they’ll wait for him, and he’s already started typing when he realizes that the sender isn’t Fandral. There, staring innocently up at him from the screen, is a text from Loki: _Call me._

Thor hastily excuses himself, catching Hogun’s eye and mouthing “it’s Loki” so if he’s not back in the living room by the time Fandral gets here they’ll know to start without him. Korg and Sif are too deeply engrossed in the finer points of Starfleet uniform design to notice his departure.

It’s been six weeks since Thor has heard from his brother, and he stares at the text on his screen with a sinking feeling in his stomach. Loki, for all his insistence on being left alone, had texted him fairly regularly after getting out of jail. True, most of his messages consisted of sarcastic responses to Thor’s life updates (one time Thor sent him a selfie taken at Korg’s latest rally and Loki replied that the role of family disappointment was already taken, thank you very much, so he had better not get himself arrested), but he texted often enough to keep Thor from worrying. A few times he even sent pictures of dogs he’d seen or complained about particularly annoying customers at the call center. And then, six weeks ago, he went completely radio silent. At first Thor didn’t press it, figuring Loki was busy or just needed space, but as the weeks went on without a word his concern grew. He’d finally caved two days ago and called Officer Coulson just to make sure Loki was alive and hadn’t ended up in jail again. Coulson confirmed both, but didn’t offer any insight into Loki’s sudden withdrawal. And now his brother is texting him out of the blue, just the words _call me _with no explanation or context. Thor takes a deep breath and hits the call button.

Loki answers on the first ring. “You called my _parole officer_?!” he hisses. His voice is unexpectedly harsh and loud over the poor connection, but Thor feels a wave of relief crash over him at the sound. He was afraid this would end up like _that _night, but Loki sounds… fine. Annoyed, but fine.

“Hello to you too,” he says, unable to completely hide the smile in his voice.

There’s muffled cursing and the sound of cabinets slamming closed on the other end of the line, then Loki’s voice comes across, clearer and calmer this time. “You couldn’t get a hold of me,” he says, “so your first thought was to _call my parole officer_? Do you have any idea how awkward that conversation was?”

Thor shrugs, even though Loki can’t see. “Nope, no idea. But for the record, calling Coulson was not my first thought. I think I’ve left you, like, two dozen voicemails in the past few weeks and you haven’t replied to any of my texts.”

“Maybe my phone was dead,” Loki says. Thor rolls his eyes.

“Maybe I’d believe that if I didn’t know you were on parole and that Coulson expects you to call and check in with him regularly.”

Loki huffs, sounding so much like a scolded teenager that Thor can’t help chuckling. He can practically feel the glare through the phone. “What do you want, Thor?” Loki asks.

That throws him for a loop. “What do _I_ want? You said to call you. I thought you were in trouble.”

“Why would I be in trouble?”

Thor can think of about a million answers to that question, but his jaw is too busy dropping in disbelief to form any of them for a solid ten seconds. “Why would you be in trouble?” he repeats when his brain starts working again. “Are you… are you seriously asking me that? You go completely out of contact for _six weeks_ with no warning _whatsoever_, you don’t respond to any of my messages, and you suddenly text me saying to call you, no explanation given? You do remember what happened last time you called me out of the blue like this, after being out of contact for weeks, don’t you? Because _that _is the first place my mind goes, Loki. So forgive me for being a bit concerned about your well-being.” He breaks off, trying to calm his suddenly racing pulse. There’s silence on the other end of the line. Thor is about to ask if Loki’s still there when the quiet is finally broken by a suspiciously shaky breath.

“I’m sorry,” Loki says, and his voice is uncharacteristically subdued. “Thor, I’m fine, okay? I’m not in trouble, I’m not doing anything stupid. I promise.”

Thor’s chest loosens and he leans back, sliding down the wall until he’s sitting on the floor. He can feel the blood rushing out of his ears as his breathing and heart rate slow to a normal pace. “Good,” he says. “Good, that’s… that’s good.” His limbs feel like jelly; he’s not sure he’d be able to stand back up right now if he tried. They sit in mutual silence for a minute or so before Thor finally gathers himself enough to clear his throat. “Can I ask why you didn’t call me back before now?”

There’s a pause on Loki’s end, then: “I don’t know, can you?” It sounds a bit weak to Thor, but it’s reassuring anyway. He snorts.

“Yeah, yeah, screw you too,” he says. “I’m serious, though. Was it something I did? Or is something else going on?”

“It’s not anything you did,” his brother says, which would be comforting except that it means there probably is something else going on. He waits for Loki to continue, which he does after a beat of silence. When he speaks, his voice has lost its unsteadiness. “I’ve just been busy. I’m picking up some extra shifts at work, and I have some… projects I’ve been working on. Nothing illegal,” he adds hastily, anticipating the question that Thor hadn’t actually been planning to ask. Plausible deniability and all. “Anyway,” Loki continues brightly, “I’ve been distracted. I haven’t been keeping a close eye on my messages. You really shouldn’t worry so much, Thor.”

And that right there is what tells Thor he does, in fact, need to worry. Loki is many things, but _chipper _is rarely one of them. He sighs. “If you didn’t want me to worry, you would come up with a more convincing lie.”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about,” his brother says.

“_Loki._”

“_What._” Loki’s tone mimics his, faintly mocking. Thor resists the urge to beat his head against the wall. This isn’t getting them anywhere, and the more he pushes the more Loki will push back. He takes a calming breath and deliberately softens his demeanor.

“Look,” he says, “we haven’t talked for a while, and you asked me to call. I’m glad you’re okay, and I’m not going to force you to tell me anything. But whatever’s going on, whatever reason you had for asking me to call tonight, I’m here if you need anything. And if you want to talk, I’ll listen.”

“Is that all?” Loki asks.

_No_, Thor wants to say. No, because he misses his little brother, because no matter what he does Loki drifts further away and Thor doesn’t know how to close the gap. No, because they’ve never really talked about what happened that night, or about what Loki did after that. No, because he knows something’s wrong – something has _been _wrong for a long time and Thor has no idea how to even start fixing it. No, because he needs Loki to understand that nothing he is or does will ever change that Thor is his brother.

“Yes,” he says. “That’s all.”

Silence again, even longer than the last. Thor waits. He’s played his hand, and now it’s up to Loki to do what he will.

“It wasn’t my intention to worry you,” Loki says eventually. _You said that_, Thor wants to tell him, but he holds his tongue. It’s like trying to coax a stray cat out of the rain; he can’t afford to spook Loki when he’s this close to opening up. There’s a beat, a ragged breath. “I’ve been…” Loki trails off, clears his throat. “It’s been getting worse again,” he admits, the words tense and quick like he’s tearing off a bandage.

“By _it_, you mean…”

“The dreams, the blackouts, the intrusive thoughts, all the fucked up shit that happens because I’m apparently wired wrong,” Loki says, voice oddly dispassionate.

“You’re not wired wrong,” Thor says, and Loki laughs. The sound is sharp and cold and it makes something inside him twist uncomfortably.

“Even you don’t believe that,” Loki says. “I’ll forgive you the sentiment, but you know it’s true. There’s always been something fundamentally _wrong _with me, I’ve known that for a long time. I just feel sorry for Frigga and Odin, really – by the time they realized they’d picked out a defective child it was too late to do anything but try and cover it up so no one else would see their mistake.”

If it were possible to do so, Thor would be sorely tempted to reach through the phone and shake some sense into his brother. “You are not defective, Loki,” he says, “and you certainly weren’t a mistake. I know that you are not always _well_, and that healthy brains do not experience the things yours does, but that does not mean that your existence is some sort of error.”

“Some people would argue otherwise,” Loki mutters, and Thor starts to argue that that’s a different topic entirely, but his brother cuts him off. “It doesn’t matter either way. You asked what was wrong, I answered. If you’re just going to argue semantics every time I tell you something, I don’t really see the point.”

Part of Thor wants to keep arguing semantics anyway, since Loki clearly doesn’t understand (or refuses to acknowledge) some very important distinctions here, but the rest of him knows that doing so will only make Loki less likely to talk to him in the future. He decides to let it go for now. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m glad you told me. So that’s… that’s why you haven’t called?”

“Mostly,” Loki says.

“Mostly?”

“I was trying to avoid this exact conversation,” his brother says. “And, _yes_, I am aware that it only got worse the longer I put it off, but there was always the off chance I would get hit by a car and die first, thus avoiding it entirely. You can’t blame me for hoping.” Thor gives a grunt of disapproval, and he can practically hear the eyeroll on the other end of the line. “Well, maybe you can. Regardless, I am tragically still alive, so here we are.”

Thor sighs and rubs his temples. “Do you have to talk like that?”

“Yes.”

“It’s not as funny as you think it is, Loki,” Thor says, but leaves it there. “Have you talked to Dr. Xavier about what’s going on?” he asks. At a minimum, he’s going to make sure Loki has been talking to _someone _who can help before he ends this conversation.

“He is aware, yes,” Loki says, and based on the phrasing Thor has to wonder if Loki actually volunteered that information or if Dr. Xavier had to pry it out of him as Thor did. He supposes the end result is roughly the same.

“That’s good,” he says. “Is there-” He pauses, contemplating whether Loki will snipe at him again for expressing concern. Probably. He continues anyway. “Is there anything you need? Anything I can do to help?”

“No,” Loki says shortly. “I’m fine.”

Well. He tried. “Can I ask you something else?” he ventures, and receives a noncommittal grunt from Loki. Go ahead, then, but don’t expect an answer. “Why call now? Was it just because you wanted to tell me off for calling your PO, or did something else happen tonight?”

“I…” Loki flounders, apparently caught off guard by the question. “Well, I did want to yell at you,” he allows. “But I… I don’t know. It was a long day. I had an appointment this morning, and then I got in trouble with Coulson, kind of. And I had to fix a sink. Unrelated to Coulson,” he adds, as if Thor was going to assume he’d gotten in trouble for a plumbing issue. “I got it all sorted out, anyway, but it was… still a long day.”

Thor’s face cracks into a teasing grin. “Are you implying you called because you actually wanted to talk to me?”

“Definitely not,” Loki says, but he doesn’t seem terribly annoyed. “And I didn’t call, I texted you and you called me. Important distinction.”

“Right, right, of course.” Thor knows better than to pry any more tonight, but he’s also not going to leave the conversation there. “In all seriousness, though. Are you okay to be alone right now?” he asks. “The squad is over at Korg’s and my place for Friday movie night, you’re welcome to come over. Or I can come to your apartment if you want.”

“I appreciate it, Thor, but I really am fine,” Loki says, and he sounds tired now but relatively normal. “I have work in the morning, anyway. I should probably try to get some sleep.”

Thor’s not entirely convinced, given his brother’s record with asking for help, but at least Loki knows he’s around to offer it if needed. “Okay,” he says. “Look, will you at least try to shoot me a text every couple days or so? And call me if you need anything? I know you don’t like me hovering, but I’m a lot better at avoiding it when I know you’re, you know, alive.” He hesitates, then adds: “Please.”

“I can do that,” Loki says, and Thor’s fairly certain a semi-truck just got lifted off his chest. “But I really do need to get to bed, my shift starts at seven. Enjoy your movie night, okay? Tell Korg and Fandral I said hi.”

Thor grins. “You know they’re not the only ones here, right?”

“Of course, but they’re the only ones I like. Well, Sif’s okay. You can tell her I said she’s okay.”

“Oh yeah? And what should I say to Hogun?”

He can practically hear Loki’s smirk over the phone. “Hogun doesn’t care about anything I say. Volstagg’s not there, is he?”

“Nah, Hilde had twins a couple months ago and I’m pretty sure he’s been on nonstop diaper duty ever since. He hasn’t made it to a movie night in a while. I think at this point he’s just making up excuses so he doesn’t have to hang out with us young whippersnappers. Which is bullshit. He’s… what? Six, seven years older than the rest of us? I don’t think he’s even thirty.”

Loki chuckles. “Making things up like his wife giving birth to twins?” he says dryly. “Yes, I’m sure that’s it.”

“Exactly. You get it,” Thor says. “Anyway, I should let you go. Take care of yourself, okay?”

“Yeah, I will. Goodnight, Thor.”

“Night, Loki.” He sighs and gets to his feet, slipping his phone back in his pocket as he makes his way back to the living room. The sound of explosions is emanating from the TV, and he arrives in time to see Tom Cruise rappel down the side of a building and start kicking ass. Korg catches his eye and waves.

“Hey man,” his roommate says. “Hogun said you said to start without you when Fandral got here, so I hope you don’t mind. I have some M&M’s that I bought if you want some, they’re on the table.”

“Thank you, Korg,” Thor says, grabbing a handful of peanut M&M’s and flopping down on the couch next to Fandral. “What are we watching?”

“I think it’s the new _Mission: Impossible_, but I honestly can’t tell them apart,” Fandral says. “Hogun said Loki called?”

Thor nods. “Yeah. Well, he texted me to call him. I’m pretty sure he just wanted to answer dramatically on the first ring. He says hi. But only to you and Korg.”

Fandral laughs. “Always knew he secretly liked me. See, Sif? I’m Loki’s favorite. Well, me and Korg.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s only because he hasn’t actually spoken to you for almost a year,” Sif says dryly. “He’s just forgotten how annoying you are. And he barely knows Korg.”

Fandral splays a hand over his chest in mock agony. “You wound me, my lady.”

“I don’t know,” Thor says. “He said to tell Sif that she’s okay. That was all he had, though. Sorry, Hogun.”

Sif rolls her eyes and grabs another slice of pizza. Hogun merely grunts, eyes never leaving the screen. Next to Thor, Fandral leans in and lowers his voice. “You don’t have to tell me, but is everything all right? I know he hasn’t called for a while and you were getting worried.”

Thor glances at him out of the corner of his eye. It shouldn’t surprise him anymore, but Fandral’s perceptiveness still manages to catch him off guard. “I think so,” he says. “He’s just been busy.” It’s true, but it’s not really the truth, and Fandral eyes him knowingly but doesn’t press.

“Let me know if you need anything,” he says instead, and Thor nods his thanks before turning back to the screen to figure out what’s happening with Ethan Hunt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some additional notes:
> 
> 1\. Loki and Thor make several references to Some Shit That Went Down™. This will be revealed in due time.
> 
> 2\. I think this can be inferred from some comments in their conversation, and I'll probably make it clear later, but Thor and Loki are roughly a year apart in age in this fic. There's no real consensus on their respective ages in the films, but from their interactions (and the flashbacks in the first movie) I very much get the vibe that the age gap is equivalent to a year or two at most.
> 
> 3\. This fic is set in the States (in a Generic Midwestern City), but I'm having a really hard time picturing Thor and Loki with American accents. So I'm going to handwave that with "IDK boarding school or something".
> 
> 4\. While the characters here are generally based on the Thor films, I'm taking some inspiration and character beats from the more recent comics. This is particularly true of Loki and the Warriors Three (since the latter don't get much characterization in the films but I just really love those idiots in the comics).
> 
> 5\. I have never seen a Mission: Impossible film. If the vague scene described here doesn't happen in any of them, assume it's from a hypothetical new film in the series.


	2. Going Under, Going Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki dreams, Val investigates, and Thor gets in over his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we have the second chapter of this weirdly niche AU! This chapter is the reason for the Body Horror tag, so have fun with that.

He’s running. He knows he must be running, because he can feel his feet pounding and the air rushing through his lungs, but nothing is moving. There are trees – he thinks they’re trees – on either side of him, and the faster he runs the more they distort, but they never change. He never moves past them.

Something brushes his side and he looks down. Nothing. Not even darkness. Just a complete lack of existence, and Loki doesn’t know how that’s even possible. His breaths come faster. He’s dreaming, he has to be, but no matter how much he screams at himself to wake up – _wake up! – _he can’t seem to claw his way back to consciousness. He pumps his arms desperately, and the maybe-trees twist into ragged shapes that reach at him with skeletal limbs, catching on his clothes and dragging him forward, forward and yet he’s still moving nowhere. The nothing brushes him again, and he doesn’t look down this time.

He should stop running. Some logical corner of his brain says that there’s no point in running this hard if he’s not even moving. He keeps running.

Maybe something’s chasing him. Maybe that’s why he’s running. He risks a glance over his shoulder. Nothing. Of course. It’s not something chasing him, it’s _nothing_. That same raw nothingness that keeps brushing against him is speeding towards him from behind, dragging the twisted not-trees into itself and coming closer, closer… It’s going to envelop him. He opens his mouth to scream, and one of the shapes to his left suddenly shoves him forward, sending him tumbling down, down into the nothing. If he does manage to scream, the sound is completely swallowed by the void.

There’s nothing, and then there’s everything, and Loki is running through proper woods now, with definitely-trees and bushes scraping against his limbs as he plunges forward. Someone is yelling up ahead, screaming a word he can’t make out over and over. And then someone whispers_ “stop”_ and the forest falls away, leaving Loki standing perfectly still in the middle of a clearing that he’s never seen before but somehow recognizes instantly. He pivots, slowly, and finds himself staring at an altar dripping in blood. A figure is tied to it, belly down, head turned to stare directly at him with unseeing eyes. The figure is naked, but somehow too blurry to be gendered, open mouth skewered through with the knife that must have silenced their dying screams.

The figure is torn open along the length of the spine, ribs and lungs pulled out and spread to the side like wings. Blood and entrails spill out in a gruesome puddle around the body, oozing onto the ground by the altar. Loki drifts forward, transfixed, one hand reaching out as if to touch the figure even though that makes _no sense, why would he touch a dead body, he needs to wake up, come _on, _Loki, wake up-_

And then the figure smiles, teeth bloody around the knife, and Loki’s eyes snap open.

He stares at the ceiling, heart beating against his chest so hard he’s afraid he might throw up from the force. _What in the _fuck, he thinks, and rolls over onto his side so he can breathe slowly into his pillow. Great. He’s had a whole weekend of decent sleep for the first time in months, and then he gets hit with whatever the hell _that _was. Absolutely freaking wonderful.

Loki’s heart rate eventually slows and he sits up, stripping off his sweat-soaked shirt and glancing over at his alarm clock. Five forty-seven. His alarm won’t go off for another twenty-three minutes, but there’s no way he’s falling asleep again after that. He stands, stretches his arms over his head with a yawn and a satisfying pop. He’ll take a hot shower, make some coffee, text Thor so his brother knows he’s still alive, and then he’ll do his best to put the entire dream out of his mind while he answers calls for the next ten hours. It’s fine. Everything’s fine. It was just a dream.

*

Val’s on her second cup of coffee, which means that by all rights her hangover should be gone by now. Except for some reason everything is shit and the pounding behind her eyes has only increased ever since she got in this morning. Fucking fantastic start to her second week at a new job. There’s probably some planet she could blame this on, if she knew shit about astrology. Which she doesn’t. She drains the rest of her cup with a grimace; the coffee here tastes like ass. She’d expected Stark Industries to have better coffee than they had back at the police station, but apparently she has no such luck. She decides to blame her shit morning on Uranus, partly in honor of the ass-tasting coffee and partly because it’s funny.

Her radio crackles – “all security personnel report to stations” – and she sighs. So much for a quiet morning. What’s-His-Face the Manager appears and waves at her from across the room, so she dumps her empty cup in a trash can and strides over. Several other security guards have already clumped up in a half-circle to hear the rundown. “What do we got, boss?”

“A doozy,” he tells her. “We’re calling law enforcement in to handle it, but we need to keep the eggheads calm and evacuate ‘em while the police have a look.”

“Oh, yeah?” She checks her baton and taser. “I take it we’ve got more than an abandoned lunchbox on our hands, then?”

“Oh, yeah. Someone went out on the roof to check on some equipment and found a dead body up there. Real gruesome, too, from what I heard.” He swallows, looking faintly nauseous.

Val squints at him. “They found a dead body on the roof of Stark Industries?”

“Yep,” he says. “And it ain’t just any dead body, either. Apparently the person was literally torn open from the back. I’ve never heard of anything like it. I don’t know if it’s some sort of warning, or what, but we’re treating it like a bomb threat and evacuating so the cops can come and investigate. Greg should be making the announcement any moment now, but I need you all to do a sweep of the building and escort the civilians out.”

Val’s blood runs cold, and she barely manages to pay enough attention to hear that she’s supposed to help evacuate the labs. A body torn open from the back? She can’t be sure without a full description, but a horrible feeling of familiarity settles in her gut. She’s seen this before, just over a year ago. Her first major homicide case after making detective. The case that started everything, the case that ruined everything. She’s gone months without a lead, and now this shows up right outside her fucking workplace, ripped wide open. And sure, Val believes in coincidences. She’s seen too much shit to believe there’s some grand plan tying everything together with a neat little bow. But this? This isn’t a damn coincidence.

She walks down the hallway toward the meteorology labs in a daze. The alleged bomb threat doesn’t worry her much – there wasn’t a bomb last time, and if this is the same MO there won’t be one now. And she has bigger concerns anyway. It won’t be long before her old buddies from the station show up to take care of the situation. It might take them a while to secure the scene and verify that there aren’t any explosives, but as soon as they’re done the corpse will be shipped off to the morgue and Val won’t get another chance to investigate. She needs eyes on the body, and she doesn’t have a whole lot of time to waste.

First, though, there’s the matter of evacuating the rest of the employees. On the off chance someone actually _did _leave explosives somewhere in the building, the civilians better be well out of the way before the bomb squad rolls in. Someone – Greg, apparently – is on the intercom, calmly informing the occupants of the building that a suspicious object has been discovered and that all personnel are being evacuated as a precaution. A suspicious object. What a way to put it.

The redheaded gal at the front desk is remarkably calm, speaking to several employees and pointing towards the door on the other side of the cubicles. Val remembers her from the welcome-to-Stark-Industries tour on her first day. What was her name again? Penny? Piper? Something with a P.

“Pepper!” someone calls, and Front Desk Gal turns around. Right. That was it. There’s a blond man jogging towards Pepper, looking way too energetic for, well, any time really, but particularly this early in the morning. Val frowns. He looks vaguely familiar, but she can’t place where she’s seen him before. She’s sure she would have noticed someone this annoyingly _awake_ when they showed her around last week, even if he hadn’t been 6’3” and built like a brick shithouse. “Have they told you what’s going on?” he asks, slightly breathless.

Pepper turns to him. “Only what they’ve just announced. I think-”

Val steps in. “We have a bomb threat. You’re supposed to evacuate to the east side of the building.” Pepper nods, businesslike and apparently unfazed.

“Of course,” she says, turning to the man next to her. He’s staring at Val like she’s just grown a second head. Pepper taps his shoulder. “You okay there, Thor?”

The man – Thor – starts and glances at Pepper, then back at Val. “They’re really calling it a bomb threat?” He sounds perturbed.

“Yeah,” she tells him. “That’s what I just said.”

“But it’s-” He cuts off. “Right. Yeah, of course.” He coughs awkwardly and nods, then turns and follows Pepper towards the exit stairs. Val watches them go before shrugging and continuing her sweep of the floor. Weird dude, but whatever. She’s got a job to do, and then she needs to get up to the roof and check out the body.

She doesn’t get there in time. By the time Val reaches the staircase leading up to the scene, police tape is blocking the way and two uniformed officers she doesn’t recognize are standing at attention by the door to the roof. One of them raises a hand as she approaches.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but we can’t let you through. This is a crime scene.”

“I’m aware. It’s also a security threat that concerns Stark Industries.” Val taps the badge on her chest and levels a stare at him. He gulps, but doesn’t back down.

“I’m not supposed to let anyone through,” he says. “I’m sorry. You would have to get clearance from someone higher up.”

Well, intimidation’s out. “Fine,” she says. “Who’s the officer in charge and where can I find them?”

“Uh… that would be Detective Sitwell. He’s out in front of the building interviewing witnesses.”

Fucking Sitwell. Of course it’s fucking Sitwell. Her feet thud angrily on the stairs as she makes her way out to the entrance, mulling over possibilities. There’s no way she’ll be able to talk Sitwell into giving her privileged information on the case- she still has friends at the department, even after what went down, but Sitwell is decidedly not one of them. She might be able to extract some intel from the other officers, but there’s no way she’s getting up to the roof if she needs to get Sitwell’s approval.

The detective in question is outside as advertised, chatting with someone she can’t quite make out from this angle. She edges around the parked bomb disposal van to get a clearer view, ever careful to stay out of Sitwell’s line of sight. Her eyes widen a hair when she recognizes the witness. That blond idiot from earlier apparently saw enough to warrant an interview with the lead detective on this case. Well. She may not be able to get a good look at the body, but Thor seemed talkative enough in passing. It shouldn’t be too hard to extract a description of what he saw.

Val sidles up to him as soon as he starts walking away from the parking lot. “Hey, there.”

He startles, and she almost snorts at the contrast between his Viking-warrior vibe and the almost sheepish expression that takes over his face. “Hey,” he manages after a moment. “I saw you upstairs, didn’t I?”

“Yep, you did. Saw you talking to Detective Sitwell over there.”

“Yeah,” he says, nodding for a moment before his brow furrows. “You know him?”

“Worked with him for a while,” she says, waving a hand dismissively. “Why’d he want to talk to you?”

Thor glances to the side, something decidedly unsettled in his expressions. Unsure what he should tell her, it looks like. Maybe he’s not as naive as she first thought. “He just wanted to question everyone who saw anything suspicious.”

She doesn’t have time to entertain his circumspection. “You found the body.”

He stops dead in his tracks and stares at her. A raised eyebrow is her only reaction, and after a moment he clears his throat. “Yeah.” He runs a hand through his hair. He’s not shaking, which Val thinks is rather impressive given the state the body’s supposed to be in, but now that he’s admitted to what he saw he looks vaguely lost. “Some of our pressure readings this morning were weird, so I went up to check on the equipment and I saw… well, it was… god, it looked like something out of a horror movie.” He cuts off and swallows hard. “Sorry. I probably shouldn’t go into much detail, but it was…” He trails off again, shaking his head.

“Sitwell tell you to keep mum?” She hums absently and starts walking slowly towards the evacuation area across the parking lot. “Yeah, probably shouldn’t be spreading panic. Media would go into a frenzy if they heard about this.” She points to the vans already pulling up on the other side of the street. Suit-clad people with cameras are spilling out, only to be herded back by uniformed officers. “Cops’ll want to keep the real story on the down low, probably just say there was a bomb threat and leave it at that. Might admit there was a body if rumor gets out, but no way they’re releasing details. Security already got a talking-to. We’re supposed to refer any nosy reporters to the police.”

Thor grimaces, looking vaguely sick again. “Do you think that’s the right move? Covering it up like that?”

“It’s what they did last time.”

“Last- wait.” Thor grabs her shoulder. She twists away with a warning glare, and he holds up his hands in apology. “You’re saying this has happened before? There have been other murders like… oh, god. You investigated it. You were a detective. I thought I recognized you, I saw you at the police station once.” That explains why he looks familiar, though she doesn’t recall speaking with him. He doesn’t give her time to ask what he was doing at the police station, either. Probably reporting a lost dog he found, if his general demeanor is anything to go by. “That’s how you know Sitwell,” he continues. “That’s how you know what happened even though I haven’t told you any details. You were there before. What- do you know what this even is?”

Val offers him a grim smile. “The corpse was ripped open, wasn’t it? From the back. With the ribs and lungs pulled out on display.” He nods, so she continues. “It’s called the Blood Eagle. It’s an ancient method of human sacrifice allegedly used by the Vikings.” She pauses, considering how much to say. This Thor guy is already involved, after finding the body, and he did ask. And – fuck it – she’s desperate. If telling him about the case gets any details out of him, it’ll be worth it.

“There was a similar case last year,” she tells him. “My first big homicide after making detective. We got a call that they found a body on the roof of some new high-rise that hadn’t opened up yet. Same deal as this. My partner and I were the detectives on the scene. You saw the one up there, I’m sure you don’t need all the gory details. As gruesome as it was, though, that wasn’t the weird part.” She levels a stare at him. “The first weird part? The vic didn’t exist. We spent weeks trying to ID him. Pulled every missing persons report we had, didn’t find anything. No matches on ViCAP. Asked around local homeless camps to see if anyone recognized him. Ran fingerprints, dental, DNA samples. And we found zip.”

Thor looks thoughtful. “How common is that?”

“Unidentified bodies?” Val tilts her hand. “It’s not exactly _uncommon. _There’s thousands of unidentified bodies out there. A lot of them are immigrants. Runaways. Drug addicts. But a lot of times when someone can’t be identified, it’s because there’s not enough left of them to identify. Extensive facial trauma, varying levels of decomposition, that sort of thing. This guy, though, he was in good condition, aside from the obvious. No facial trauma, toxicology was clean, and the medical examiner put the time of death just a few hours before the body was found. You still get some vics in good condition that you can’t identify, but it’s enough to trigger the weird sensor, especially given the way we found him.”

“Sacrificed Viking-style on top of a building.”

“Exactly.”

They pause at the edge of the parking lot, near the designated evacuation area but just out of earshot of the milling crowd of Stark Industries employees. Security personnel are herding them into some semblance of order, lining everyone up in rows for a headcount. From here, Val can hear the low murmur of concern running through the ranks, punctuated by occasional bursts of laughter from those that clearly don’t believe there is anything genuinely troubling going on. It’s not as if this is the first time they’ve had to evacuate even this year, and so far there have been only false alarms.

“You said that was the first weird part,” Thor says. He’s watching her intently now, and his voice is low and serious. “What else was weird?”

Val turns to face him fully. “I’ll tell you if you want,” she says. “But first, you need to swear to me. You’ll tell me what you saw. Everything. And you won’t tell anyone that I’m investigating. That case from last year? I already told you it was weird, but the investigation got even weirder. Shit went down, and the moment I got a lead my superiors ordered me to drop the case faster than a live grenade. When I didn’t, I was… _strongly encouraged_ to resign.” She offers a bitter smirk. “I checked with an acquaintance from the department a few months after I left, and apparently they’d already declared it a cold case. The details were never released to the public. There was something fishy about it from the very beginning, something that went way beyond what I managed to unearth. These cases are connected, and there’s some kind of coverup going on. I intend to figure out just what the hell it is. So here’s the deal. You describe this body for me, and then you decide. You can walk away if you want. Give me the info, and then forget about all of this. I don’t want to drag you in any further than you already are, and the more you know the riskier this gets. So if you want to know, I’ll tell you, because God knows I could use some help with this investigation. But if you do get involved, there’s no turning back.”

Thor only hesitates for a second. Then his face hardens, something steely creeping into his gaze. “I’ve never seen anything like what was up on that roof. It was horrifying, but it was also… off. I’m not sure I can put my finger on it. I’ll tell you what I saw, but I want answers too. I found the body, so this is my problem now, and I’m not walking away.”

Well, looks like this guy is either way more or way less of an idiot than she’d originally assumed. Val grins. “Good. Go check in with your manager so you don’t get marked missing. They’re gonna dismiss all employees for the rest of the day so the police can investigate. When you’re done, there’s a bar a few blocks down where we can talk privately. And where I can get a drink, because I freaking need one in order to talk about this case.”

“It’s not even eleven in the morning.”

“So?”

He opens his mouth, then closes it and shrugs. “Which bar?”

“Grandmaster’s. Down on 7th. Meet me there after they let you go.”

“Sounds good,” he says, then: “Hang on. I don’t think I caught your name. I’m Thor Odinson.” He offers a hand and a friendly smile.

She stares at his proffered hand for a moment, then shakes it. “Brunnhilde Valkyrie. My friends call me Val.”

His smile widens, slightly teasing. “Are we friends, then?”

“Let’s put it this way. If you try calling me Brunnhilde, we’re definitely _not _friends.”

“Val it is, then,” he says. “I’ll see you soon.”

* 

It takes far longer than Thor expected for the cops to release everyone, but they’re finally escorted back into the building in groups to retrieve their belongings once the bomb threat has been cleared. Thor grabs his laptop bag and some scratchy handwritten notes on the morning’s weather readings from his desk, then bids goodbye to Pepper and his other coworkers and heads for the employee lot to find the security guard who approached him earlier.

He’s probably an idiot, getting involved with whatever mad investigation she’s conducting, especially after her warning, but he can’t get the image of that corpse out of his mind. Bloody and gruesome and yet… damn it all, that’s not the part that’s bothering him. It was the expression. The open eyes of the corpse, staring out at him from a perfectly serene face frozen in waxy acceptance. He shudders, remembering. There was something unsettlingly familiar about it, too, which makes no sense at all because he’s never seen anything like it before. But déjà vu prickles at his skull all the same, sending something icy down his spine. And then there’s everything the ex-detective told him, about the other case like this, and the fact that she’s not on the force anymore because of it. Like she said, there’s something fishy going on. Staying out of it is probably the smart thing. _Well_, Thor notes, with no small amount of self-deprecation, _Loki always did call me a reckless idiot._

Val’s waiting for him when he pulls up outside the bar, leaning against a sleek black motorcycle with her arms crossed over her chest. She raises a finger off her bicep in greeting, and he jogs over from where he parked. He gestures to the motorcycle. “That your bike?”

She rests a protective hand on the seat. “Yep. 1974 Norton 850 Commando. One of the most iconic bikes ever made. Bought her off a junk lot and restored her myself. You touch her, I kill you.”

Thor raises his hands in mock surrender. “Understood.” She smirks approvingly. “So,” he says, after a moment. “Are we just talking outside, or…?”

She rolls her eyes and pushes herself away from the bike. “I was just waiting for you, dumbass. Come on.”

He follows her into Grandmaster’s, past a stocky, grim-faced bouncer who eyes them with no small amount of distrust. Val gives her a cheeky wave. The bouncer’s only reply is a surly grunt, and Val laughs.

“You know her?” Thor asks.

“Topaz? Yeah. She hates me, it’s hilarious. Come on.”

Thor’s not sure why that would be hilarious, but Val is evidently operating on an entirely different wavelength from most people he knows. That much is clear just from her choice in booze joints. The place is oddly garish, with mismatched posters slung up along the walls advertising everything from bar staples like trivia night to more esoteric entertainment like hedgehog racing. Thor didn’t even know that was a thing, and he’s not entirely sure it’s legal, but there it is. Next Tuesday night. Bring your own hedgehog.

He shifts uncomfortably when the silver-haired bartender turns and winks at them from across the room. “Is it just me or does this place seem a little… sketchy?”

Val shrugs, unconcerned. “I’m like eighty percent sure it’s a mob front,” she says. “Never got any proof, though. But I like their booze, so.” She flags down the bartender. “Whiskey sour. And my buddy here’ll have a…” She glances at him. “What you getting?”

“I’ll just have a beer. Whatever’s on tap.” It’s definitely still too early for drinks, but given what he saw this morning and what he’s about to hear, Thor figures he needs one about as much as he ever has. The bartender pulls their glasses.

“Who’s this one?” he asks, flapping a hand at Thor. “He’s, ah, cute, isn’t he?”

“Friend from work,” Val says. “No one special.”

“Mm_hmm._” He blinks slowly at Thor, then claps his hands and goes to prep their drinks. Thor watches him in mounting confusion. At least the hedgehog races make a little more sense now. This weirdo probably came up with them.

They carry their drinks back to a corner booth, as far as possible from prying ears. As soon as they’re out of the bartender’s earshot, Thor leans down to whisper in Val’s ear. “If you think this is a mob front, why exactly are we discussing a sensitive case here? What if they’re involved?”

“Chill out, they aren’t involved.” She plunks her glass down and slides into the booth with a contented sigh. “Trust me, this isn’t how the mob operates. And Gast owes me a favor anyway.” She gestures in the general direction of the bartender. “Long story. Point is, I know these guys are sketchy, but I know their type of sketchy. We’re safe to talk here.”

He’s not entirely convinced, but this is Val’s territory, so he sits and takes a foamy quaff of his beer. “What do you want to know?”

“Everything you can remember about the scene. Description of the victim, their injuries, anything else you saw.” She gestures with her glass, a signal to start talking.

“All right.” Thor clears his throat, taking a moment to think over the scene. He still has to suppress the urge to shudder. “Victim was male, Caucasian, probably mid-thirties. Brown hair, blue eyes. The eyes were open, staring out. It was creepy. The corpse was naked, positioned on its stomach, with the arms spread out to the sides and the head turned so it was looking sideways.” Thor approximates the position from his seat. “Something like this.”

Val nods, gestures at him to continue.

“Okay. Well, you already described the… method of execution, I suppose, when you were talking about the other guy, and it was about the same here. He was opened up from the back, all the way down his spine, and his ribs and lungs were pulled out like wings. I think I saw some entrails spilling out, but to be perfectly honest I didn’t look too closely at that part. There was…” He furrows his brow, trying to summon more details to mind. “There was less blood than there should have been. Scene was too clean. I’m not a doctor or a detective or anything, but my dad used to take my brother and me deer hunting when we were teenagers. This one time, I shot a buck, and he went down right away but when we got to him he was flailing around because the hit wasn’t fatal. Anyway, my dad was like ‘you have to mercy kill it’, and I was still freezing up so my brother pulled out a hunting knife and slit its throat.”

He can still remember Odin staring at him, waiting for his son to man up and go for the kill. Thor just stood stock still in front of the deer, listening to it scream and thinking how he didn’t mind hunting but it was so much cleaner and more honorable when the animal didn’t have to suffer. And then Loki, who hated hunting and had been very reluctantly dragged along in the first place, rolled his eyes and muttered something about _not having all day, Thor_, before pulling out his knife and doing the deed with mild disgust but no hesitation.

“There was so much blood,” he recalls. “Because the deer was still alive when he slit its throat, right? And the guy on the roof didn’t have his throat slit, but he was completely sliced open, so there should have been a ton of blood. But there wasn’t. There was some, but it was mostly just seeping out from the wounds. It wasn’t everywhere.”

“So you think he was already dead when he was cut open?” Val asks.

“That, or he was killed somewhere else,” Thor says. “I don’t know which. But there wasn’t enough blood for whoever it was to have just cut him open on the roof with his heart still beating.”

Val takes a long drink and regards him appraisingly. “There’s another possibility.” She leans back, one arm behind her head and the other gently swirling the remains of her whiskey sour. “I told you the first weird part about the last case was that we couldn’t identify the victim. The other weird part was how clean the scene was. Like you described, but also in general. It wasn’t just the lack of blood. The scene was _clean._ We went through it with a fine tooth comb, but we didn’t find a single trace of evidence pointing to a suspect. No hair, no fingerprints, no footprints, nothing we could trace to a murder weapon. Nothing. The autopsy report confirmed that the guy was alive when they sliced him open and that he died of, well, having his lungs ripped out his back. So like you said, there should’ve been a lot of blood. But given how clean that scene was, my guess is they killed him on the roof and then scrubbed the place, and I’d wager it was the same with the guy you found.”

“Makes sense.” Thor picks up his own drink and stares at it, watching the reflected lights from the ceiling flicker in the amber depths. His phone buzzes, and he pulls it out to find he’s missed eight texts since leaving Stark Industries. Half of them are from Korg: a meme of a dog wearing sunglasses, then two texts in succession reading _Whoa man did ur work get a bomb? I just saw the news _and _Bro I hope you’re okay_. The last one is the most recent alert: _Dude did you die??? Pls say you didn’t die I can’t afford the rent alone._

He texts to inform Korg that no, there wasn’t a bomb and no, he did not die, then checks his other messages. There’s one each from Volstagg, Sif, and his mother, all saying they saw the news about the bomb threat at Stark Industries and asking if he’s okay. He replies to each individually, then sends an “I’m alive, don’t worry” update to the squad group chat so the rest of his friends don’t have to send him panicked texts.

The final text is from Loki. _Saw the news. Assuming you’re fine since no casualties were reported. I presume the bomb threat was a false alarm?_

For some reason – maybe because he’s been on Loki’s case about open communication recently, maybe because he’s surprised his brother actually bothered to text out of thinly-veiled concern – he texts back: _No bomb. But the threat was kind of real. There was a dead body on the roof._

Loki’s reply is surprisingly immediate. _Shit. You’re sure?_

_Pretty sure_, Thor replies._ I was the one who found it._

His phone rings. “It’s my brother,” he mutters to Val. “Hang on a minute.” He brings the device to his ear. “Yeah?”

“You found a dead body on the roof of Stark Industries.” Loki’s voice is oddly lacking in expression.

“Yes, I did, and I’m actually not supposed to tell anyone, so please don’t tell anyone I told you.”

Thor can picture Loki’s eyeroll. “Who would I tell? Look.” There’s a pause, and then the flat tone returns. “What did the body look like?”

“Some guy. Wasn’t anyone I knew.”

“I mean how did they die.”

Thor meets Val’s eyes across the table. She shakes her head once, almost imperceptibly. Keep it quiet. Right. “Looked like a murder,” he says. “But I don’t know anything else.”

“What sort of murder?” Loki asks.

Thor shrugs. “Are there different sorts?”

There’s a frustrated silence on the other end of the line. When Loki speaks, his voice is oddly quiet. “This probably sounds crazy, but just tell me. Was the body cut open from the back?”

Thor’s hand tenses on his phone. “How do you know that?”

“So it was.” That flat tone again.

His knuckles are white now, the phone digging into the soft flesh of his palm. “Loki, how do you know that?”

“I saw it. I think… no, it’s nothing. The body was torn open, then. From the back. With the ribs and lungs pulled out.”

That description is far too detailed. “Loki, why do you know this? If you know something, you need to tell me. Please.”

“I don’t know anything.” Too quick. How the _fuck _does Loki know about this? Why is he asking? There’s no way he could have known, right? Yes, he has issues, but his little brother couldn’t have been involved in something like this.

“Loki. You need to tell me what you know.”

“I don’t know _anything_,” Loki hisses again, and now that the odd tone has vanished Thor remembers where he’s heard it before. It resembles the tone from Loki’s call on that night, that oddly dead and distant voice that immediately told Thor something was desperately wrong. It’s not quite as bad, this time, but it’s still _off_.

“Loki,” he says, yet again. “Please tell me. Why did you ask me about that murder method?”

“I don’t know anything about this body you found,” Loki says, and his voice sounds a bit more honest now, at least. “I thought you would tell me I was crazy. I didn’t expect my guess to be right. I swear, Thor. I don’t know anything about this. I had a dream, that’s all. It’s coincidence, it has to be. It was just a dream.”

“Just a dream,” Thor repeats. It’s a poor explanation, but it would make an even flimsier lie. And Loki sounds shaken, like he really wasn’t expecting Thor to confirm his wild guess about the body. “You’re sure?”

“Yes, I’m _sure_,” Loki says. “It’s why I texted you so early this morning. It woke me up, and I couldn’t get back to sleep so I texted you to tell you I was alive, like you asked me to.”

“Have you…” Thor trails off, clears his throat. “You mentioned last time we talked that things were getting worse. That the dreams were back, among other things. But you’ve never told me about them before. About what was in them.”

There’s a very long silence. Then: “Remember when we were kids? We had that huge collection of stuffed animals?”

“Yes.” He has no idea where Loki’s going with this apparent non sequitur. “We would sort them into armies and make them fight each other.”

“Right. Well, remember what I would do whenever one of the stuffed animals was captured by enemy troops?”

“You would stage a… _oh._” He remembers now, and that odd sense of déjà vu from earlier suddenly makes sense. Whenever one of the warring stuffed animals fell into enemy paws, Loki would take the unfortunate soldier, place it on the table, and mime the other animals cutting it open along the spine as a sacrifice to the stuffed animal war gods. It disturbed Thor immensely, and he eventually begged Loki to stop it and just leave the stuffed animals in a POW camp under the kitchen table. “That means you’ve been having dreams about this since you were a kid,” he says.

“I’d completely forgotten about the fake sacrifices until this morning,” Loki admits. “But it makes sense. I must have had similar dreams back then.”

“You did have nightmares a lot as a kid,” Thor mutters. They went away eventually, then returned in high school as Loki as become increasingly troubled and closed off. And now they’re apparently as bad as they’ve ever been, if Loki’s tone earlier is any indication. “So what does that mean? You have dreams about this as a kid, and now they’re back, and the day you remember one is the same day some guy gets murdered with this exact method literally on top of my workplace.”

“Why would I know what it means?” Loki asks.

“I don’t know. They’re your dreams.”

“They’re fucking _dreams_, Thor. They don’t make any sense.” Loki sighs. “Whatever. Look, I’ll call you if I think of anything relevant, but my break was over three minutes ago and if I don’t get back to my station someone will yell at me. I’ll talk to you later.” He hangs up, leaving Thor to stare at the phone in his hand for a solid minute before looking back up at the woman lounging in the booth across from him. Sometime during his phone call she’d finished off her drink and gotten another.

“Well,” he says. “That was something.”

“I mostly only heard your half of the conversation, but I think I got the gist of that,” Val says. “And no offense, but your brother sounds like a piece of work.”

Thor lets his head fall back with a sigh. “None taken. He is.” He drums his fingers against the table. “So. We have, now, two people killed by some bizarre Norse execution method and then left on roofs. The first victim’s unidentified, the scene was wiped clean, and there was some sort of sketchy police coverup that got you fired. And now my brother calls, literally hours after the second victim shows up, saying he had a dream about it last night? And we have solid evidence that he had similar dreams as a kid? That part could be a coincidence, but if it is it’s a really weird one.”

Val scoffs. “What, you think he’s some sort of psychic?”

“Honestly, if anybody I knew was secretly a psychic, it would probably be my brother,” Thor says. “But no, I wasn’t suggesting anything like that. I’m not suggesting anything. I’m just saying it’s weird.”

Val finishes off the remains of her second whiskey sour in two impressive gulps, then stifles a burp. “I’ll give you that. This whole thing is fucking weird.” She sighs. “Maybe your brother accidentally walked in on your parents watching a horror movie when he was real little and saw someone get killed this way and it permanently scarred him.”

“I have seen nearly every horror film out there, courtesy of Loki’s edgy emo phase in high school, and I think I would remember something like this,” Thor replies. “Also, I’m pretty sure he thought _The Texas Chain Saw Massacre 2 _was a comedy.”

“I’m… _really_ not sure that discounts my theory,” Val says. “Though it is funnier than the original.”

“That’s fair,” Thor says. “But my parents never watch horror movies, so I really doubt that happened.”

“Fine,” Val groans. “At least I tried. But regardless, your brother’s weird-ass dreams don’t really count as evidence.”

“We’re somewhat lacking in the evidence department anyway.”

“Yeah.” Val stares at her empty glass as if contemplating whether to get another refill. If she does, there’s no way Thor’s letting her drive home. She makes no move to flag down the bartender again, though. Thor’s about to suggest they figure out what to do next when he remembers the papers he shoved into his bag. He draws them out and spreads them on the table.

“This is… it’s probably a reach,” he admits. “But since we’re so low on evidence I figure I’ll put it out there.”

Val pulls the papers closer and squints at them. “What am I looking at?”

“Barometric readings. It’s why I was up on the roof in the first place this morning. We thought there was an equipment malfunction. At about…” He leans over to look at his notes. “…yeah, at about five this morning, according to our readouts, there was a massive drop in barometric pressure, similar to the readings we would get before a thunderstorm. Only it was perfectly clear, and when we checked our readings from other locations they were normal. The anomaly was isolated to the roof where the body was found, and it only lasted for about forty minutes.”

“So was there a malfunction?” Val asks.

“I didn’t exactly get a chance to check,” Thor says. “But honestly, it would be unprecedented. Stark Industries’ meteorology equipment is top of the line, since it’s so vital to our solar program. We have some of the most accurate readings in the world and we’ve never had a malfunction like this.”

Val stares at the scratched notes for another minute, then slides the papers back to Thor. “I have no idea how weather readings could be related to a murder, but it’s weird that it happened only where the body was found. Maybe the murderers used some device that interfered with the equipment or something like that. It’s worth looking into.”

Thor tucks his papers away. “Okay. I’ll take a look and see if anything turns up. What will you do?”

“I still have some copies of stuff from the other case. I can pull them together, see what else I have to cover to bring you up to speed. Shit happened during that investigation, but I don’t know how much of it is relevant. I also have a contact at the morgue, I’ll try to follow up with him and see if I can get any details from the autopsy. Meanwhile,” she points at Thor’s chest, “you’ll probably have to talk to Sitwell again. Cops’ll want to follow up with their witness. If you get a chance, see if you can get him to let slip some details. We could use any info we can get.”

He nods, grim. “Sounds like a plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, Thor's a meteorologist. I couldn't resist. Fun fact: meteorology was my dream job for a good chunk of elementary and middle school. I really liked clouds, yo.
> 
> Also, this is Val's bike: https://www.classic-british-motorcycles.com/images/x74Nor-Com850-L.jpg.pagespeed.ic.BGzBdrx7ix.jpg


End file.
